He'll Always be Singing Songs in my Head
by fuzzysocks
Summary: When Erin saved a man from a suicide attemp, she gets into alot more than she bargined for. This is different than other Phantom stories,it starts a few days after Christine left with Rauol. Please give it a shot and tell me what you think. ErikChristine.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello people! welcome to my story. before i begin, i would just like to make it know that this is a Erik/Christine fic even though the first chapter or so doesnt make it seem that way.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anyone or anything form the Phantom of the Opera. But if Erik sang like Howard McGillin and looked like Gerald Butler... you get the idea. Erin is my original character.**

**Ok, Here we go:

* * *

Chapter 1**

Erin wandered through the dark cobble stoned street. A young girl of only 14, she was returning from her apprentice job as an herbalist. Or, her former apprentice herbalist job. Now there was no one to be her teacher. The old man she had known as her father for the past seven years had died in his sleep the night before. She had just spent the past long day making preparations for him to be buried.

A warm tear rolled slowly down her cheek and she hurriedly brushed it away. There is no need to cry, she told herself. Her grandpa's death had been eminent for awhile now, all she could have done was just sit and play the waiting game with him. And it's not as if she was left with no means of support either. Grandpa had left her their house along with a decent inheritance. The old man had also devoted the last years of his life to teaching her his trade, so she would be able to support herself if the need ever came.

Still, Erin thought, the thought of going home to an empty, quite house doesn't sound too appealing. She sighed a heavy sigh and turned the corner onto a slightly more lighted street. She could see her stone house sitting peacefully at the end of the block and the sight of it made her forget her dread. It instead, was replaced by a sudden wave of tiredness, the result of probably one of the most trying days of her life. Now she wanted nothing more than to go up to her room and collapse on the bed. She could almost feel the warmth of her covers when an alarming sound pricked at her ears.

She stopped abruptly and spun around trying to locate the source of the sound. Had she imagined it? No, there it was again. It was barely louder then a kitten's mew, but Erin was sure she had heard it. It was a moan, and it sounded like a moan of pain. Just then, she saw a black mass lying on the side of the road. As she moved cautiously toward it, Erin saw that it was a man wrapped in a black cloak. He was lying on his side, his face hidden by shadows, and he was shivering.

"Monsieur?" Erin called out quietly as she knelt next to the huddled figure. "Monsieur, are you all right?" but the man only responded with another small whimper. She reached out and gently touched his hand, but quickly drew it back as she felt something wet come in contact with her skin. The fluid was warm and sticky and it didn't take Erin long to realize what she had just touched.

"Oh,_ merd."_ She cursed silently. She picked up the man's hand and turned it over. His entire palm was shinning with blood, but it was not his hand that was bleeding. On his wrist was a large gash that was bleeding freely. Erin stared in shock for a moment. This man was trying to kill himself, she thought. Why? But she knew now was not the time to think about that. Quickly, she yanked her kerchief out of her hair and ripped it in half. She tied one half tightly around his wrist and went swiftly to bandage the other. To her dismay, she found that the man's other hand was pinned under his head as some sort of makeshift pillow. She gently pushed the man's head off the hand, but fearfully drew back again as the man's face caught the light emitting from one of the dim street lamps near by. One side of his face was terribly scarred and disfigured. It was a horrifying sight to see, and Erin had to do everything in her power to stop herself from running to the safety of her house that looked so much more comforting and inviting now. She took a deep breath and wrapped up the black-cloaked man's other wrist in the rest of her kerchief.

She knelt there for a couple of seconds, taking it all in. she couldn't leave this man here, and she hated to think of what would happen to him if she called the police or something. Erin looked up to her house, and the back at the man, and back and forth again. She let out another huge sigh and stood up. The though of her warm bed and sleep seemed farther away then ever.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

Erik lay, unmoving and refusing to open his eyes. He felt warm and could hear the crackling of a fire near by. _I must be in hell._ Erik thought, scrunching his eyes tighter, _I died, and now I am here to face my fate. You'll have to get up sooner or later._ Slowly, he opened his eyes.

To his amazement, Erik found that he was not chained in a dark circle of hell, but was lying on a cot in a small, dark room. A merry fire was burning in a stone fireplace across the room, shedding a dim light that filled the room. His wrists were bandaged and a wet cloth lay across his forehead. Where was he? Who had bought him here?

Suddenly, a shrill whistle came form the fireplace. Erik turned his attention toward the hearth and saw a thick kettle emitting a stream of steam from its spout. A figure stood up from a large armchair in front of the fire. He sat up and saw that the figure was that of a young girl. She had long, curly brown hair and was average height. In fact, Erik thought to himself, from behind, this mystery child looked a lot like Christine.

Christine. Erik's heart gave a painful pang. She had left the opera house only two days ago with Rauol. He had tried to cope, but those few hours had been too much. As he had stumbled through the streets, half blinded by his grief and the night, he came across a broken wine bottle. He stooped to pick up a piece, and admired how smooth and sharp it was. He sat, staring at the glass in his hand for what seemed like hours. The pain he felt was over powering him. In his mind, he had given up his right to life. He recalled tears coming to his eyes as he pressed the shard to his wrist.

Rage flared up as Erik watched the girl place a tea cup on a small table and turn back to the hearth. He had wanted to die, needed to die, and this mystery child had stopped him. Quietly, he stood up from his cot and crept up slowly behind the girl.

Erin looked up at the clock over the mantle. It was a quarter after three in the morning, and she had not gotten an ounce of sleep all night. The man had not woken up at all, but had been muttering in his feverish sleep for the last hour or so. The events of the past day had been a lot to bear and she had decided about ten minutes age that what she needed was a strong cup of tea. The kettle had just started to whistle and she had gotten up to retrieve the boiling water. Erin was just about to lift the kettle from over the blaze when she heard a rustle behind her. She straightened up and spun around. A hand shot out from the darkness and closed around her neck.

Erin gasped as her supply of air was reduced to little more than a trickle. The man holding her, the same man she had bandaged and cared for, stepped in to the fire light, his disfigured face looking even more menacing then before.

"Why?" the man croaked quietly, "Why?" his grip tightened and she reached and tried to pry his fingers loose. "Please…" Erin gasped hoarsely, "Please, let me…" but her vision started to swim and she could barely muster the words. She tried in vain to draw a breath, but the man's grip was to strong.

Erik watched the girl struggling in his hands. He really didn't care any more. He had killed before, hadn't he? What was this girl to him? Nothing. The child was trying to say something, but he refused to listen. She was trying in vain to free her neck, but Erik did not let up. But suddenly, he felt light headed. He swayed a little and his grip unintentionally faltered. That was all the girl needed. She took deep breath and finally wrenched his hand from her throat. Erik staggered backwards and fell onto the arm chair behind him. The room seemed to be spinning and the girl's pathetic coughing filled his head.

Erin gradually gained her breath back and everything returned to normal. She turned to the man, now collapsed in her grandfather's old chair, and said gently "Please, let me explain. My name is Erin. I found you out in the street and acted on impulse, I didn't mean to upset you in any way." The man did not respond but he looked up at her, his eyes filled with an unknown emotion. The kettle still whistled behind Erin and she warily turned her attention back to it. As she reached out to lift the it again, she said "Now, I think we should talk." Kettle in hand, she turned back to face the man and poured some steaming water into the cup she had placed out earlier. "But I think you should decide what we will talk about."

A/N: I know these are meant to be put in the beginning, but I forgot. I don't own anything from the Phantom of the Opera, just the characters I make up.

Also, I would just like to mention that I have seen the play and the movie (actually, I'm watching it again now  ), but have not read the book. This ficlet is based primarily on the play's version, as it seems to leave more room for a sequel. I am also open to any suggestions anyone feels compiled to make. I think that's all for now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's another chapter! Yay! Special thanks to MoonWalking Phantom, who so far has been the only person to show interest in my story. For that, you get...drumroll...BROWNIES! Yay! **

**If there are anyother readers floating around out there, please review and this fabulous prize can be yours also! Yay! Oh, Happy Mardi Gras btw.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own the Phantom. Wish I did. eats brownie**

**Chapter 3**

Roughly two years later

_Rauol stood in middle of a graveyard amid a torrid of swirling snow. He reached out to Christine, standing below him, who eagerly grasped his hand. His eyes smiled at her and he opened his mouth and sang "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you, here beside you. Anywhere you go let me go too." Suddenly Rauol's sweet face began to change "Christine" It became the distorted face of the Phantom. She let out a scream and tried to pull away, but she found that she was unable to." That's all I ask of you"_

Christine awoke with a start, drenched in a cold sweat. She glanced fearfully around the room and clasped her head in her hands. "A dream." She spoke aloud, her voice shuddering, "It was only a dream." It had all felt so real though. She turned to the space next to her, but was unsurprised to find it empty. It had been over a year since her and Rauol had slept in the same bed, or the same room for that matter. Christine sighed. She got up from her bed and went to the French doors that led to her balcony. Grasping the handles, she flung them open and welcomed the warm summer air that came rushing her way.

Leaning against the marble railing, Christine closed her eyes and took in the sounds of Paris nightlife. She did love Rauol and was still engaged to him. Two years was a long time, however, and she asked herself every single day why they were not married yet. Christine opened her eyes. She knew why. It had started off as fear, fear of a new life, commitment, and the Phantom. The fright had been shared at first, but then it turned into something else.

After the incident with the chandelier at the Paris Opera house, attendance had dropped drastically. La Carlotta wasn't appealing to the audiences the way she had used to and the writers were running dry for ideas for brand new operas. Also, Monsieurs Andre and Fimin's plan to draw the people in through the lure of gossip had spun wildly out of control. New stories seemed to be popping up every day, ranging from Siamese chorus girls to "La Carlotta: A Man?"

The struggle of the opera was really taking its toll Rauol. He was so stressed out that he rarely went out any more unless his appointment concerned work. He was becoming very withdrawn and didn't seem to enjoy having Christine around as much as he used to. That wasn't the worst of it though. Christine had noticed in the past few months that Rauol had started drinking more. It had started out as just an extra glass of wine or two at dinner, but then Christine started to find empty bottles hidden in random places around the house. This scared Christine more than anything else at the time and she immediately confronted him about it. Of course, Rauol denied all of her claims. It was as much as Christine expected. Knowing that there was nothing she could do to stop him, she chose to stay out of the way and hope that one day they would both come to their senses and finally get married.

Christine took one last look at the city below her and turned back to her room. The clock on the mantle read 2:34 a.m. She no longer felt like sleeping. In fact, she felt as wide awake as she would if she had gotten a full twelve hours instead of a measly four. She looked around her spacious room for something to amuse herself with and finally decided she'd work on her needle point. Needle point was a hobby she had picked after she moved in with Rauol. As a Viscountess-to-be, she had decided that she needed a more "lady-like" way to occupy her time instead of opera. At least, that's what Rauol had hinted at. Christine picked up her cloth, needle and thread. She threaded the needle and set the cloth in place, but then realized she had no idea what to stitch. Her mind drifted back to the dream she had just had, of Erik's face. She shuddered as she relived it, but it quickly passed. Now, she had an inspiration for her stitching.


	4. Chapter 4

**Wow, sorry this took forever. I had a bio test this week. Did you know that there are like, seven differnt groups of worms out there? Neither did I.**

**oh my gosh, i got two reviews! I'd like to thank the academy, my mommy and daddy, Howard McGillin, Gerald Butler,****Erik's Muse**, **and Scimitarmoon. Brownies for all! (there's more where that came from folks! 'hint, hint...wink, wink...say-no-more)**

**Disclaimer : zey ish not mine. vish zey vere, but sadly, no.

* * *

****Chapter 4**

Erin hurried quickly down the busy street, carefully clutching the bundle in her arms to her chest. Erik had asked her to make this delivery. No, not asked, _pleaded_ with her to deliver it. Not that she minded though. This would probably be good for him. For the past year and a half, Erin had been some what 'counseling' Erik, something she never thought she would be doing for anyone. The man had been extremely depressed and, judging by his attack on her the night she had found him, was prone to anger problems. Helping hadn't been hard; all he really needed was a companion, someone to talk to. And talked he had. He had told her the whole story, right up until she found him.

It was because she had heard the story that she was so shocked when Erik had asked her to make this trip. Part of her had agreed because she knew that this was something he really wanted, but the other part was only doing this out of sheer curiosity. What was she like? How would she react when she saw the package? One thing Erin knew for sure, however, was that Christine Daae was certainly in for a surprise.

* * *

Christine examined the pattern she had stitched onto the white fabric in front of her. It was very simple and kind of sloppy, but it was clear what it was. It depicted a white mask lying next to a blood red rose. Tied around the stem of the rose was a long black ribbon, just like the ones the phantom used to give her after her performances. As she stared at her design, it occurred to her that she had no use for a needle-point memorial to the phantom. "Well, that was a complete waste time." She muttered to herself in disdain. She tossed the fabric onto the tea table on the other side of the room, where it fluttered gently next the huge vase lilies she had set on the table. Christine got up from her chair and flung herself face down on her bed, still unmade from the night before. As she lay there, her face buried in a pillow, she got the sudden idea that if she stayed this way long enough, her bed would swallow her up and she wouldn't have to deal with creepy nightmares or needle point ever again. _Yeah,_ she thought,_ that's what I'll do._ Just then, there was a rapid knock at the door._ Drat._

"It's open!" Christine yelled into her pillow. She heard the door knob turn and heavy footsteps enter the room. A small impatient cough confirmed who her visitor was.

"Hi Rauol." Christine looked up from the pillow and gazed at her fiancé. His deep brown eyes were bloodshot and he looked rather frazzled. He looked her over once and said "Did you just wake up?"

"No." Christine replied as she sat up to fully face him, "I've been up for a while."

Rauol gave a small sniff and ran his hand through his sandy locks. "Well, I just came up to tell you two things. One, I'm going to be out at the opera house today. The press went a little over board this time and I need to go clear a few things up. Something about La Carlotta sleeping with Italy's top composer. And two, the doorman has just informed me that there is a girl at the door who is requesting a meeting with you. He wants to know if he should send her away or let her in."

Christine sighed and stood up. "Tell him to give me five minutes. Oh, and ask him to send up some tea as well." Rauol nodded and turned around to leave. "Rauol?" Christine called after him. He stopped walking and turned back to look at her. She strided up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She kissed him lightly on the lips and said "Take it easy today, okay?"

Rauol looked back at her and gave a small smile. "I'll be home around six tonight." Then he gently pried her arms loose and opened the door to leave. "I'll see you then" and with that he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey folks. Sorry this took so long. Crazy week. And no new reviews is making me sad :(. Ah well, hope you enjoy this.**

**Disclaimer: Not Mine.**

* * *

Chapter 5

Christine stood at her window staring at the street below. Behind her, she heard a small knock on the door. "Come in." Christine called out. The door creaked open and she heard a quiet voice say "Ms. Daae?"

Christine turned around and saw a young girl standing on the threshold. The girl was dressed in a simple peasant dress and was carrying a terry cloth bundle wrapped in her arms. Christine looked her over and, to her surprise, saw the girl doing the same to her. "Hello." Christine said pleasantly.

The girl shook back her shoulders and looked up at her. "Ms. Daae, my name is Erin. I'm here on behalf of…" just then, there was another knock at the door. It opened and a maid carrying a tea tray bustled in. Erin's eyes followed her as she placed the tray on the tea table and Christine couldn't help but smile at how her dramatic introduction had been interrupted. "_Merci, _Agatha." Se said to the maid. The maid nodded in response and quickly backed out of the room.

"Well," she said as she sat down at the table and picked up a tea cup, "It's lovely to meet you Erin. Could I inertest you in some tea?"

Erin shook her head. "No thank you Mme." She shifted uncomfortably, "I'm here on behalf of…of an old friend of yours." Erin paused and looked at Christine who was watching her from over the rim of her tea cup. "They wanted me to give you this." She let the terry cloth fall away and produced a long, thin white box secured shut with a red ribbon.

"Oh!" exclaimed Christine, placing her tea cup back on its saucer, "How nice." She reached out to take the box as Erin handed it to her. "What is it?"

Erin hesitated. "Just…just open it." Christine gave the girl a small smile and began to untie the ribbon, racking her brain for who could have sent her this gift. "Can you tell me who sent it? Or is that a surprise too? I can't think of who would send it, maybe someone from the…" but she cut off as she took the lid off the box. Her eyes grew wide as she saw her mystery gift.

Lying at the bottom of the box was a rose. A perfect, long stemmed rose with smooth, red petals. But Christine was not looking at the rose. Instead, her eyes rested on the silky, black ribbon tied around the stem. She now knew who the gift had come from, she had dreamed about him only last night.

_He's back._ Everything around Christine seemed to go mute. Erin was saying something, but she couldn't hear a word of it. Black spots started appearing in front of her eyes and she slumped in her chair.

The next thing she knew, her nose was filled with a sweet scent. Her eyes popped open and saw that there was a brown box pressed against her face. She looked up at Erin, who was holding the box, and Erin took it off and placed a lid on the top. "He warned me you might do that." She placed the box on the table and sat in the chair across from Christine. "He also asked me to explain the situation to you." She picked up a cookie from the tea tray and took a bite. "So, what do you want to know?"

Christine sat up and rubbed her temples. "What was that?"

Erin swallowed. "What, you mean in the box?" Christine nodded "Lavender." Erin replied. "Its scent does wonders for calming nerves, anxiety, and, in you case, shock." She popped the rest of the cookie in her mouth and sat back.

Christine raised an eyebrow "Umm…"

Erin sighed. "I'm an herbalist. It's my job to know this stuff." She crossed her arms and settled farther down into her seat.

Christine squinted and rested her head on her hand. "Why are you here?"

"He asked me to come." Erin replied, "He didn't want things to end the way they did." Christine looked up. "I'm _engaged._" She said. "He would know that. And a rose can't change what happened." She picked up the tea pot and poured herself another cup of tea.

"Believe me, he knows you're engaged. And he knows the rose won't cut it." Erin sat up straight again. "Which is why," she took a breath, "He has asked me to extend to you an invitation to have tea with him sometime."

Christine bolted upright and gave Erin a cold stare. "No."

Erin blinked in surprise at the abrupt answer. Then she shook her head and said "Well, can't say I didn't try. But he just wants you to know, as creepy as it sounds, he still thinks of you. And apparently," she continued, "you still think of him." She picked up the white cloth with Christine's stitching on it. Quickly, Christine wrenched it out of her hand. "Please leave." She whispered, her gaze still cold.

Erin shrugged and stood up. "Alright." She walked across the room and picked up the sack that had held the rose box. "But if you happen to change your mind," she said, reaching into the bag, "come to this address." She pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to Christine. She stared at it for a moment and then took it from Erin's hand. Erin turned to leave.

"Wait." Christine said, stopping Erin. "This address, it's a house."

Erin turned and looked at Christine. Her look of confusion changed as she realized what she was talking about. " Twenty-two thousand francs a month is quite a lot of money when you have nothing to spend it on, Ms. Daae." Erin gave a small smile and opened the door. With a final look at Christine, standing confused in the middle of the room, Erin left.


	6. Chapter 6

**Yes! spring break! finally! and four new reviews! double yes! thanks to Mysterium925, fopfighters, RowanMayfair13, and ErikMySweetfor the oh so wonderful comments. More brownies! I've also got some soda bread in honor of st. patty's day if anyone is interested :). Anyway, i have an announcement to make. on monday, im leaving for germany for ten days on a class trip. i wont be able to post, so ill try to squeeze in one more between now and then. sorry**

**Disclaimer: i dont't own anything from the Phantom of the Opera**

* * *

Chapter 6

Christine sat at the dining room table, absent mindedly pushing her food around her plate. She stole a quick glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It read 7:03. She turned her attention to the seat at the other end of the table. It was empty. She sighed. She was sort of hoping that Rauol would come home on time tonight for once. It had just been such a weird day. The rose from the phantom was currently tucked away in the lilies' vase, cleverly hidden under the large petals and leaves. His address however, was slipped in the waistline of her skirt (A/N:don't get the wrong idea, she doesn't have pockets. Is all). After Erin had left, she had spent awhile just looking at the paper and the neat script on it. She had out right refused the offer to go visit him, but the curiosity was over whelming. After all, this man had been a huge part of her life for so long and, as Erin had point out, she still was thinking about him.

Christine looked at the clock again and began to stand up to leave, but then the dining room door open and Rauol stepped in. She sat back down and the two shared an awkward gaze for a moment. "Hey." Christine said. Rauol dropped his gaze and took his seat at the end of the table. Almost immediately, he reached for the wine bottle in the middle of the table and began to pour himself a rather generous glass. "Erm…How'd the meeting go?" she asked nervously.

Rauol took a long draught from his glass and roughly set it back down. "Bad." He croaked, "Really bad." He rested his head on his hand and took a deep breath. "They want me to go to Italy." He took another drink and looked up to see Christine's reaction. She just sat there, slightly dumbstruck. "What? Why?" she implored. "Because," he answered, " This time, the story might be true."

Awkward silence. "Are you serious?" Christine asked, a small smile playing on her lips. Rauol drained his glass, "Yes. And they want me to go to Italy to help 'protect' La Carlotta's reputation." He reached for the bottle again. "if you ask me, there's not much of a reputation to protect."

Christine suppressed a laugh and tried to ask seriously "How long will you be gone for?"

Rauol drank some more wine. "Two weeks. Maybe a little more if things don't go over that smoothly." He shook his head and finished his second glass in one gulp. "I don't see why it has to be me." He grumbled.

Christine gave him a nervous smile. "I'm sure it will work out just fine." When Rauol didn't respond, she said "When are you leaving?"

Rauol stood up and slid his chair back into place "Tomorrow." "Tomorrow!" Christine exclaimed, "But, that's so soon. They didn't even give you any time consider it?"

"There's nothing to consider. They're not giving me a choice." He gazed at Christine for a moment again. "I'm sorry." He turned and walked back to the open dining room door. "By the way." He added as he reached the threshold, " What was with that girl today? What did she want?"

Christine opened her mouth, but closed it again. Now probably wasn't the time to tell him the truth. "She was an opera fan." Christine lied, "she just wanted to meet me."

Rauol nodded and turned to look at her again. "Too bad you don't sing opera any more." He waited for a response. When it didn't come, he murmured a 'good night' and left the room.

Even though she was sure he didn't mean it, Christine was rather hurt by that last comment. Rauol knew how much she missed singing. Slowly, she pulled the paper out of her skirt hem and stared at it again. After a few moments, she folded the paper and followed Rauol's possession out of the room. Maybe a short visit to the phantom wouldn't hurt after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**New chapter! Just in time, too. It's off to Deutschland for me tomorrow! yay! Thanks to everyone for the new reviews:**

**Masked and Forrgottten: Yay! thanks for the pizza. It might be a little moldy by now though... **

**RowanMayfair13**: **I updated! glücklicher Tag!**

DracosDiva:Ooooo. Maybethats why spell check kept telling meI was spelling it wrong...

**Disclaimer:Ich nicht besitzen das Phantom der Oper (oh snap! its in german! what now!)**

* * *

Chapter 7

Christine walked down the cobblestone street, squinting in the glare or the sun to try and see the small, gold numbers that labeled each house. Indeed, her reason had lost to curiosity and she had followed the address Erin gave her to a suburb just outside of Paris. Most of the houses she had seen so far were fairly big and Christine was surprised that a man who had lived in solitude his whole life could afford something like this.

The night before, Christine had devised a plan to get out of the house as low key as possible so that Raoul (A/N:) ) would not ask her where she was going. I hadn't mattered though; Raoul was gone by the time she had woken up. She adjusted her sun hat and continued walking. She kind of wished he had woken her up and said good bye.

Christine strode up to the last house at the end of the street. The number along side its door matched the number on the paper. Looking up at the house, she marveled at how nice it was. All the windows were open as well as the double French doors that led to a balcony on second floor to let in the pleasant summer breeze that swept up the street. In every window she could see curtains fluttering, and for some reason they gave her an odd feeling. She never thought that the man she knew as a phantom would have curtains in his house. Then again, she never thought the phantom would have a house. She checked the paper again to see if she had made a mistake, but then she heard something that told her right away that this was the right house.

From one of the windows on the second floor, the soft tinkling of piano keys could be heard. Christine froze as the familiar melody washed over her. _Think of me, think of me fondly…_she was hearing the first song she had ever sang at the opera. She fought back a wave of sadness as she recalled her days at the opera. Those were some of the happiest days of her life. Memories popped up in her head, of the phantom coaching her from behind the mirror in her dressing room exactly how to hit the right notes of the song. She remembered how his voice echo through the room, commenting on how La Carlotta would have her hands full when he finally brought Christine to the stage. Christine shook her head and regained the awareness of where she was. Slowly, she walked up to the front door and banged the bronze knocker three times.

It took a moment, but soon the door was thrown open. Standing there was not the phantom, as Christine had expected, but Erin. The girls face lit up as she saw Christine standing there and she exclaimed "Ms. Daae! And what perfect timing too! I just put some tea biscuits in the oven. Come in. Can I take your hat? I'm so happy you decided to come. He'll be thrilled. He was rather disappointed yesterday when I told him that you declined, but now you're here anyway." Christine was still standing outside, a bit taken aback by the high energy the girl was suddenly showing. "Um…"

"Are you coming in?" Erin asked as she turned and walked into the foyer. Christine took off her hat and followed her. She handed the hat to Erin. "Nice hat." She commented as she admired the fake flowers along the brim, "I'll just go put this away and tell him that you've come." With that she tucked the hat under her arm and hurried quickly up the staircase behind her, leaving Christine in the hallway alone.

She looked around, admiring the splendor of the house. It wasn't as big as Raoul's, but it was just as nice. The hall was carpeted with an elaborate oriental rug and the stair case was made of a dark mahogany. Her eyes traveled up the stairs to the second floor. Suddenly, something on the ceiling above her caught her eye. She fully tilted her head upward and stared. Right above her was a large, beaded chandelier that swayed slightly in the breeze that wafted through the house. _Oh jeez…_thought Christine. The irony was almost too much.

"Christine?" she spun back around to face the stairs. Standing at the bottom of the staircase was the Phantom. At the sight of him, Christine could have sworn her heart stopped. While that probably didn't happen, her breath defiantly did. Almost instinctively, she felt her eyes connect with his. She could see that he was just as surprised to see her as she was him. He was just as she remembered him. His dark hair was slicked back and he wore the same, white, half-mask he had worn the last night she saw him. He was pretty much dressed the same too, a white shirt and black trousers. Yet, even though he looked the same, there was something different about his presence. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it was defiantly there.

It took her a moment, but Christine realized that they were both just staring at the other. _Say something, moron._ "Hello." _Smooth._

"I didn't think you'd come." He said. "Erin told me you had declined."

"I...I did." She stuttered, "But I…um…changed my mind." _Great. Just great._

He nodded and they both fell into silence again (A/N: I hate awkward situations. Just thought I'd let you know. Ok, moving on…).

"Thank you for inviting me, Ang…" but Christine broke off and bit her lip. _Crap._ She was about to call him Angel. That's all she had ever known him by.

He gave her a confused look. He opened his mouth to say something, but then realization hit. He let out a slow breath and said "I never told you my real name, did I?"

Embarrassed at herself, Christine slowly shook her head. Just as the situation seemed that it would become even more awkward, Erin came flying back down the stairs, narrowly avoiding colliding with the man standing at the bottom. She gave both of them a smile and then announced, "The biscuits and tea should be ready in a minute. Would you like to sit on the terrace? It's a gorgeous day outside."

The phantom nodded and Erin literally zoomed back to the kitchen. He smiled as the door closed and then turned back to Christine. "Follow me". He motioned to a door on his left. The two walked through the door, which lead to a library. From the library, they went trough a double French door, which lead them to a garden. Christine breathed in the heavily perfumed air and felt a little more relaxed. The man next to her motioned to a small wrought iron table and the two sat down.

Christine pretended to be utterly absorbed in watching a small white butterfly that fluttered by the table, but she could feel the phantom's eyes resting on her. "Erik." He said.

She turned to him and blinked. "Sorry?"

"Erik" he repeated, "My name is Erik."

"Erik" she recited. The name seemed to fit him well. The French doors opened again, and Erin came out, carrying a tea tray. She gently placed it on the table and gave a sweet smile to both of them. Then turned on her heel and hurried back into the house. Christine watched her go and then asked "Where did you find her?"

Erik picked up the teapot and began to pour tea into Christine's cup. "You mean Erin?"

"Yes." She replied, picking up her cup, "Is she family?

"No." he said, placing the pot back on the tray. "I meet her couple of years ago." He hesitated. "She…um… helped me with a problem I ran into." He gave an uneasy smile. "She's been a huge help."

Christine took a sip of her tea. "Where are her parents?"

Erik sighed, "They're dead. Both died from sickness when she was four."

"Oh..." She replied, shocked, "That poor girl." Erik nodded again and said "She was cared for by her grandfather until she was fourteen. He's the one who taught her about her herbs. Speaking of which, I heard the lavender went over pretty well." He smiled again picked up his tea cup. Christine felt the heat rise in her cheeks and she looked down at her tea to try and hide that she was blushing. "Does she go to school?"

Erik drank some tea "No. I've been teaching her some simple stuff, but mostly she doesn't care for education. Pity. She really is a bright girl." He placed the cup back on the saucer. "She really enjoys music though."

Christine looked up again and smiled. "How's that going for you?"

"Music?" Erik's smile grew, "I'm glad you asked. I'm actually writing another opera now. I started only a little while ago, but it's coming along. Maybe I could show it to you some time, and you could put in a good word for me at the opera house."

At the mention of the opera house, her face fell. "I'd like to see it, but you'll have to get the word out some other way. I don't sing at the opera any more."

Now, Erik's smile disappeared too. "What?" he asked stunned, "Why?"

Christine hesitated, knowing he wouldn't like the answer. "Raoul doesn't really like the idea of having a working wife." She watched as his expression hardened at the mention of Raoul. "That's not right." He said, "You were meant to sing."

Christine gave a mental shudder, wishing they were talking about something else. "I miss it" she said, "I wish I could go back. But, I also want Raoul to be happy."

That last comment hit hard, she could see it in his face. The two sat in silence again, and now Christine could tell that the conversation could not be saved. "I'm sorry," She said, staring down at her tea cup again, "But it's getting late. I should be getting home." Erik nodded and stood up. Still in silence, he walked her back through the library and into the foyer. When they were standing in front of the entrance door, Christine said quietly, "Thank you for the tea."

Erik opened the door and looked at Christine. "It was good to see you again, Christine." She looked back into his eyes for a second, but dropped her gaze again and quickly said "Good bye." She hurried out the door and back down the cobbled stone street.

Erik stood there for a little bit, watching her go. Then slowly, he closed the door and turned around. As he did, Erin, seemingly from no where, popped up by his shoulder. "Well," she said pleasantly, "that couldn't have gone worse. I fact, I don't think I've ever seen something as awkward as that in my entire life. It was going well for a little bit there, but then you had to bring up the opera. And you said you wouldn't react if she brought up her fiancé! That plan failed fast."

Erik looked down at her "You were eavesdropping?"

"Of course." replied Erin, "You think I would miss something like that?"

"Forgive me." Said Erik sarcastically, "I wasn't aware that the rules of etiquette had changed." He started walked toward the stairs

"Hey, don't be mad at me because you messed up." Erin said, following him.

"Right," he said, climbing the first couple of steps. "It doesn't matter though, its not like she's coming back."

"Oh, I think she'll come back." Erin called after him from the bottom of the stairs.

Erik stopped and turned around. "Really? What makes you say that?"

"Because," she said as she leaned against the banister, "Ms. Daae forgot her hat."


	8. Chapter 8

**Woot! I'm back from Germany! It was really fun. And i got so many reviews! Unfortunatly, I'm out of brownies, so you all can have these chocolate Mozart candies they had everywhere in Germany/Austria. Kind of obessed people, dont you think?**

**Ok, about this chapter. It sucks. Alot. Just a warning. I'm at the point where i know whats going on at Point A and i know what i want to happen at Point B, but I'm not quite sure how to get there. So please, just bear with me. the next chapter will be longer and better.**

**Disclaimer: Only in my mind.**

* * *

Chapter 8

_My hat._ Christine sat up in bed and stared wildly in to the darkness of her room. She brought her hand to her forehead, as if she was checking for a fever, and groaned. Something had been nagging her since she returned from Erik's house yesterday afternoon. She had thought about it for a little while, but had decided it was nothing. Of course, what it really was just had to hit her now, right as she was going to sleep. Figures. She kneaded her forehead with her knuckles and mentally yelled at herself _"It took you two bloody days to realize you forgot your hat! You can't get much slower than **that.**"_

She threw back her covers and swung her feet over the side of the bed. _"It wasn't that nice of a hat anyway. Besides I have others."_ she lay back on the bed again, almost convinced that it wasn't the big of a deal. But then something peculiar happened. As Christine closed her eyes to try and sleep again, an image of Erik wearing her hat popped into her head. Her eyes immediately popped back open. As strange and comical as the vision was, it really scared her for some reason. "I have to go back and get that hat." She murmured to herself.

_You're really going to go back there? Just for a hat?_

_Yes_

_Any other reason?_

_No_

_Liar_

_What's that supposed to mean?_

_Admit it, you want to go back because of Erik. You're still curious._

_Oh please, that's the last reason why I would want to go back._

_Sure._

_Die._

_Can't. I'm you._

Christine rubbed her temples and lay back down on her pillow._ I'm going insane._ She yawned and closed her eyes. So what if her hat was at Erik's house? She would just pop by tomorrow, go in, get the hat, and get out. It would be that simple. As she drifted off to sleep, her last thought was _"I hope"._


End file.
